


Life Lessons

by starsandgraces



Series: Learning [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Medical Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-14
Updated: 2010-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgraces/pseuds/starsandgraces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov visits McCoy for some help with a small medical issue and gets more than he'd bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/330.html?thread=1109578#t1109578) prompt at [st_xi_kink_meme](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/).

He's glad Sickbay's all but empty. It's bad enough having to admit this to McCoy, who wouldn't tell anyone even if there wasn't such a thing as patient confidentiality, but it'd be a hundred times worse if any of the nurses overheard and let it slip to "just one friend".

McCoy crosses his arms as he comes over to the biobed where Chekov's seated himself. "What's the problem, kid?"

"Can you, ah...?" Chekov asks, gesturing at the privacy screens next to the bed. McCoy raises an eyebrow, but pulls them closed nonetheless. "Thank you."

"What colour's the rash?" he asks bluntly.

"What? No! It's nothing like that!"

"Well, I don't have all day. You need to tell me if you want me to help."

He fidgets slightly and hopes his face doesn't look as hot as it feels. "I am having, uh, problems... lasting. Sexually."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's just a matter of learning to control yourself," McCoy says. "I need you to take off your shirt, ensign." While he complies, McCoy goes about configuring the biobed for him. "Alright, now take off your pants. I'll be back shortly."

"Is there a gown or something I can put on?" Chekov asks as he stands and unzips his trousers, pushing them down over his hips. He kicks off his boots, listening to the hum of a sonic sink.

"That's unnecessary," McCoy calls from the other side of the screen. "You can sit or lie when you're ready, whichever is more comfortable."

Chekov settles for perching on the edge of the bed.

When McCoy comes back, he sits down next to Chekov and then his hand closes around Chekov's cock and squeezes. Fingertips slick with cool lubricant play beneath the head, teasing him to full hardness. Chekov digs his fingers into the bed and makes a choked noise as his hips jerk involuntarily.

Immediately, McCoy removes his hand. Chekov looks across to the doctor's face; he isn't paying any attention to him at all. Instead, his gaze is fixed on the biobed's monitor. After a moment, his fingers are curled around Chekov's cock again, stroking slowly.

And so it goes. McCoy jerks him off, stopping every time he gets too close to coming. It goes on for longer than Chekov could have imagined in his wildest dreams. He's harder than he's ever been before and the pressure building in his balls is almost unbearable. But still, McCoy teases him.

He stares at McCoy's throat and then looks away again, pushing all thoughts of kissing it (his chin, those lips) out of his mind. He can only resist so much temptation with McCoy's hand on his dick, especially when he's so close, so constantly.

When he lets Chekov come—finally, _blissfully_ —it's harder than he's ever come before and Chekov thinks he'll never see again, from the lights that burst behind his eyelids. When his senses return, McCoy is standing next to an open trash chute, dropping something into it.

"Come back tomorrow. Same time," McCoy says. It sounds like an order.

So he comes back.

McCoy can't keep his attention on the monitor this time, so his finger and thumb are clamped in a tight circle around the base of Chekov's cock to prevent him from coming. The flat of his tongue drags over the head of his dick again and again, until Chekov moans harshly and fists his hand in McCoy's hair.

He's never had a blowjob before. If not for the hand on his cock, he'd have come the moment McCoy's lips slid down over the head; the tight, hot suction enough by itself before McCoy even uses his tongue. When he does, Chekov thinks he might come in spite of the tight grip.

Apparently McCoy can tell that, because he switches his mouth for his hand until Chekov's regained control of himself. "That's right," McCoy says, before dropping his head again.

His mouth is probably the best thing Chekov's ever felt and his eyes roll when his dick bumps the back of McCoy's throat. The only things stopping him from thrusting wildly are McCoy's hands, holding him in place.

The teasing probably lasts as long as it had the day before, but Chekov can't tell. He loses track of time completely, with the blowjob feeling as if it's simultaneously lasting forever and yet still not long enough. Eventually, or too soon, McCoy removes both hands and Chekov comes suddenly, surprising himself with the force of his orgasm. He gasps as McCoy keeps sucking, swallowing around his cock until there's nothing left.

Chekov dresses himself methodically, watching McCoy cleaning up. "Tomorrow?" he asks hesitantly.

"Tomorrow," McCoy agrees, his voice rough around the edges. The raspiness suits him, strangely, and Chekov wants to be the one to make him sound like that every day. McCoy licks his lips, watching Chekov to gauge his reaction. Then he says, "You still have a lot to learn."


End file.
